


Features

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [72]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Body Image, Established Relationship, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Post-Series, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4281684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An intriguing question leads to an intimate discussion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Features

**Author's Note:**

> I know that the stories I've posted recently have been jumping back and forth in terms of when they're set, so just FYI, this one is set later in the series when Justin is 35 and Brian is 47. 
> 
> For more info re: the series' chronology, see this post on my blog: http://elissabens.tumblr.com/post/119073425195/in-quest-of-something-specific-chronology

“Hey, I have a question… what’s your least favourite feature?”

As Justin asks the question, he slips comfortably into Brian’s lap. He hooks his arms around Brian’s neck and kisses him gently. When he pulls back, he’s met with a look of total bewilderment on Brian’s face.

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m curious.”

“… about…?”

“About self-perception.” Justin eyes Brian’s work attire; it’s strange seeing him dressed when he’s lounging in bed. With a smile, Justin begins to remedy that by slowly unbuttoning Brian’s shirt. “I’ve been invited to participate in another one of Plum’s exhibitions. She’s planning one for next fall with ‘physicality’ as the theme. I thought I’d focus on self-perception… the fact, the fiction, et cetera…”

Brian smiles approvingly. Then there’s a glint of teasing in his gaze as he queries, “And you want to use me as a test subject?”

“I want to use you as a subject, period.” Justin smooths his hand down Brian’s chest, relishing the way his fingers glide over Brian’s soft skin. “You’re always in my shows in some sense. It’s like a tradition.”

“And a grand tradition it is,” Brian says, smiling fondly. “But I can’t help you here.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t _have_ a ‘least favourite feature’. All of my features are magnificent.”

“I can’t argue with you there,” Justin chuckles. He swoops down and kisses Brian appreciatively. “But surely they must rest somewhere on a spectrum.”

Brian pauses for thought momentarily. With a slight frown, he concedes, “I suppose they might.”

“So, if you were to position them on a spectrum, which would you say that you like the least?”

“You first,” Brian challenges with a sly grin. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Justin hesitates – though it’s a fair request, it’s not one that he’s eager to fulfil. Then again, he’s going to _have_ to fulfil it sooner or later. It’s not just Brian who is traditionally included in his collections; Justin has always made a habit out of including himself.

He can’t hold back now.

“It’s this,” he confesses quietly, whilst pinching the soft part of his belly between his thumb and forefinger. “I fucking _hate_ it.”

Justin keeps the offending piece of flesh gripped between his thumb and forefinger even though pain has begun to blossom. He doesn’t mind the pain – he minds the fat.

For the past few years, he’s struggled with keeping it off. He despises it. It makes his skin crawl. Whenever Justin is reminded of it, he feels rotten inside and out. He stares at the bit of fat that he’s pinching and sighs wearily. 

Brian grabs his hand and pulls it away. His gaze is fixed to Justin’s stomach – the skin is losing its whiteness from being pinched and is turning an angry red. With a soft sigh, he presses the palm of his hand over the mark. The warmth and tenderness of the touch is comforting to Justin. He also tries (oh, how he tries) to find comfort in Brian’s firm reassurance: “You’re not fat. You’re not even close. It wouldn’t matter if you were – you’d still be fucking gorgeous.”

Though he remains unconvinced, Justin gives an arbitrary nod. It doesn’t work, though – Brian is smarter than that.

“Justin.”

“Yeah?”

“I love how you look. You’re beautiful.”

“I don’t feel it.” Justin glances down at himself and winces. “I took one day off from running and now look! I wish I’d worked harder at it when I was younger. Then maybe I wouldn’t be in this disgusting state.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Brian grabs Justin’s hips and in one swift motion, he flips them over. Now that Justin is pressed against the mattress with Brian on top of him, Brian lectures, “Listen up. Are you listening? Nobody – and I do mean _nobody –_ looks the same in their thirties as they did in their teens or twenties. You’ve seen pictures of me when I was that age, right?”

Justin nods. “Right.”

“Would you rather that I looked like that now?”

“No!”

“Would you like me to lose weight and dye my hair and book in to see a plastic surgeon?”

“Of course not!”

“So it’s my understanding, then, that you love me the way I am. Right here, right now – this aged, greying being that you see before your very eyes – that’s who you want.”

“Yes,” Justin enthuses strenuously. He cups Brian’s face in his hands and kisses him firmly. “You’re more gorgeous than you’ve ever been.”

Brian grins triumphantly. “Same goes for you, Sunshine.”

Justin scowls. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did.” Brian nuzzles their noses together. “You know, when the world ended and I first found these little fuckers popping up-” he runs his fingers through the scattered grey hairs that begin at his temples, “You convinced me that they weren’t my undoing. You made me feel better about the whole nightmare. Will you let me do the same for you?”

“Okay.” Justin rustles up a smile and nuzzles Brian right back. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Brian grins and then rolls off to the side. As he grabs a cigarette and lights it, he orders, “Now quit talking shit about my partner.”

“Sure thing,” Justin chuckles. Brian tosses a grateful smile his way, then focuses on taking a very long, very indulgent drag.

As he mulls over what has just been said, Justin sidles up next to Brian. He lies on his stomach, folds his arms in front of him, and props his chin atop them.

“So.”

“So?”

“So I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”

“Ah.” Brian hands the cigarette to Justin and then folds his arms behind his head. As he frowns up at the ceiling, he muses, “My least favourite feature…”

Justin watches Brian curiously. He honestly can’t predict what the answer will be, which is a bizarre feeling after all these years together. He certainly can’t choose for himself – he loves every last inch of Brian, as is thoroughly evidenced by his archive of paintings and illustrations.

At long last, Brian speaks. When he does, it immediately becomes obvious that his prolonged silence wasn’t a pensive one – it was one of hesitance.

“The scar.”

A blade of tension slices right through Justin’s gut. He moves onto his side and places his left hand over Brian’s heart. As its rhythm collides with Justin’s palm, he murmurs, “I’ve always loved that scar.”

Always, always, always. Even when he first saw it and wanted to cry. Even when he and Brian were fighting over it – about how Brian thought it was hideously ugly and how he was convinced Justin was lying about finding it beautiful. Even though, sometimes, Justin looks at it and pictures Brian struggling through his recovery. No matter what – he has always loved that scar.

The scar has changed over the years. When Justin first glimpsed it (he remembers doing so with a lump in his throat and his stomach in knots), it was a ribbon of red. He could run his fingers over it and _feel_ its pronounced presence. It was immediately visible whenever Brian was naked. It simply refused to hide. It stubbornly insisted on being a constant, vivid reminder.

Now, it’s faded. The ribbon of red is gone and in its place is a small, slight strip of white. It isn’t pronounced anymore – it feels almost exactly like the surrounding skin. Justin rarely even notices it – he only sees it if he’s looking for it, which he does. Brian might like to pretend the scar isn’t there, but Justin seeks it out sometimes. He likes being reminded.

For Brian, the reminder is a negative one; he seems to associate the scar with illness, weakness, and imperfection. For Justin, it’s quite the opposite; he seeks out the scar, stares at it, touches it, _loves_ it, because it reminds him of Brian’s survival.

He caresses his hand over Brian’s heart in small spirals, just like the ones Brian traces over his back late at night before they go to sleep. As he does so, he reminds Brian of what the scar represents to him.

Brian smiles a little and shrugs. “Lucky you. I hate the fucking ugly thing.”

“Hey – quit talking shit about my one and only.” Justin resumes his position on top of Brian and smiles down at him. Emphatically, he asserts, “There is no part of you that’s ugly.”

A look forms on Brian’s face that quite clearly reads: _Are you fucking kidding me?_

Justin manoeuvres down, so that his chest is pressed against Brian’s. With their heartbeats aligned, Justin buries his face against Brian’s neck. He kisses the tender flesh and nuzzles against the thump of Brian’s pulse. “I love all of you. Every last part.”

He hopes (oh, how he hopes) that Brian realises what he means by that. Justin intends it to be all-encompassing. It’s not just Brian’s body and its beauty, it’s the person contained within that Justin has loved for over eighteen years. It’s all of the things that make Brian who he is – even the ones that could be construed as ugly, or sad, or sinister. Over the past few years, Justin has become intimately acquainted with such parts of Brian. It has been confronting and disturbing - devastatingly so. But despite how difficult it has been, Justin has forced himself to persevere. He has looked beyond the scarred surface of Brian’s past to appreciate what lies beneath – like his resilience and resolve, both of which Justin admires deeply. His admiration for Brian is endless; he loves him and every part of him through and through. 

“That’s funny,” Brian remarks.

Justin lifts his head and stares at Brian. “Uh, ‘funny’? What exactly do you find so amusing about my love for you?”

“No,” Brian snorts, “Not that. It just seems funny – albeit darkly so – that you love every last bit of me, and I love every last bit of you, and yet we can’t extend that to ourselves.”

Justin fails to see the humour in that – not even dark humour. It just seems sad and fucked up. He recalls how badly he’s been beating himself up ever since he started gaining weight; he would _never_ force Brian to endure such harsh treatment. Equally, he knows that Brian would never be so cruel to him, were it Justin who had that same scar.

“We should work on that,” he says softly. 

“We should,” Brian agrees.

“Maybe,” Justin proposes, whilst flashing a grin at Brian, “If you come to the studio tomorrow and work on this project with me…”

“So opportunistic,” Brian drawls. He arches an eyebrow at Justin and smirks. “I love it.”

“I know you do.” Justin brings his lips to Brian’s in the very sweetest of kisses. “So… tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Brian confirms.

Amazing how one word can be filled with so much promise. It fills Justin up with hope and determination.

 _Tomorrow,_ he thinks to himself as they kiss passionately.  _Tomorrow._

 **The End**  


End file.
